


Collection of prompts and random snippets

by temis



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: If they are necessary, M/M, prompt, random ideas, soft, trigger warnings on chapter name
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26244133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temis/pseuds/temis
Summary: As it says on the tin. Accepting prompts on my tumblr.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Salon de thé

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iamje](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamje/gifts).



> My tumblr if anyone wants to prompt me (please read the pinned post) :
> 
> [Tumblr](https://tocadoguara.tumblr.com/)

It was supposed to be just a way point between their travel, but Toulouse spirit caught them - the city relaxed atmosphere enchanted both of them, while the September sun warmed and transformed into gold everything it touched.

After they sat down, Yusuf couldn't look away, not with how the blue sweater complimented Nicolo's sea green-blue eyes, the shadows in the planes of his face, the softness in his gaze. The moon was not a better guide through the darkness of the night than Nicolo's sliver smile for which Yusuf would walk the earth. 

(And he had, all the countries and places , both wildness and civilization - always with Nicolo, never alone, never lonely. He may take point, choosing where to go or letting fate and their compassion dictate it, but only because Nicolo was behind, ready to catch and guard him, ready to guide him back into the light, his only true destination).

Their waiter gave them the menu. For himself, he chose a red warm tea, while Nicolo preferred the strong aroma of black tea, both settling on pastries and a croissant for each as part of their little break from exploring the city, the changes it went through, the memories it still retained. The silence gently complemented the soft atmosphere of comfort. There were no words that needed to be said between them. Only the ones they wanted to say - not for affirmation or confirmation, but out of affectionate love and comradeship. 

"My love, what would you like to see next? Perhaps check how the market has changed? Or should we go home from here?"

"The market, then from there we can check if that book dealer from the '70 is still open - Booker was extremely complimentary last time he went through here, so we may find something for him when we next cross paths. And at the market there may a little gift we can carry to Andy too."

"Perfect plan, my moon. Do you remember which first editions Booker is still after? We may not find anything he has not already bought, especially here In France, but it never hurts to look. As for Andy... we can try to find some horse figurines as she seems to like them, no?"

Nicolo does not verbally answer, he doesn't have to. The smile lingering on his lips, sweet and soft does it for him.

They do not speak again, it is not necessary.


	2. Fallen Angel AU TW: Serious injuries, amputation (not graphic) and somewhat unhealthy dynamic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Serious injuries and somewhat unhealthy dynamic.

They always ask: Babe, did it hurt when you fell from heaven? I laugh and turn away. The truth is: Yes, yes it did. The pressure wrenching away my feathers, one by one, leaving me incapable of flight, bleeding in a wreck of light as I fell, the temperature burning my eyelids and destroying my ability to ignore what I saw. Skin cauterized into black obsidian by the burns inflicted by the atmosphere. It took me years to relearn how to walk, without the balance of my wings, to get used to seeing everything, the good and the bad and even more time to not turn away from my own wounds and stumps. It is easy to identify those who can see true: they pale and stutter and run from me. But even as you paled like them, you smiled gently, asking me with pain in your voice: did it hurt when you fell from heaven? And I was lost. 

They say: Fallen angels - demons - don't know how to love. At least not what a human would call "love". They are right. The shards in my stumps cut and your skin wells with blood and I don't know how to blunt their ends so as to not hurt you. I would have razed a battleground in your name, followed you into each and every war, raised your leader to the throne if you only asked (you never did), but I am not able to gentle my voice (screeching from screams of agony, never ending until there was no sound left in me), curtail my temper (it rises and consumes, a fire well lit and ever growing) or how to hug you without burning and etching my own name in your warmth (so you belong to me, just as I belong to you). I do not know the positive side of love. But I am willing to learn and change and discover every facet of it with you, if you permit me the time and sometimes the space to reconstruct myself into something else, to heal from what I thought had to stay as it was (no one told me I had a choice or that I could recover before you).

I learn. By watching as you speak poetry into the world and it changes - brighter and more colorful, the wind softer on my cracked skin. As you give and give and leave only the necessary to yourself and I shadow your steps, turning away those that would take without permission, even as you call for mercy. Your care to the children and the weak is incomprehensible, but I mirror you. And as a little girl wreaths flowers in your curly hair, I understand peace for the first time. Imperfect and ephemeral, and yet so lovely and sweet and _soft_.

I sleep in your arms dreaming of a better future.


End file.
